After Being Reborn and Regaining Her Identity, the True Heiress Is Spoiled in the Seventies - Chapter 402: Things Are Getting Ugly.

Why is it “Hero” that “Savior” that? Why is it always the same happy ending? “Happy” “Good” “Perfect” endings? You know what? SCREW IT. I will give you all the worst possible ending possible? Why? Because I’m an asshole!

On the engagement night, after being betrayed by her fiancé, Ye Shu decisively turns around to marry Shen Shaochen, the number one abstinent male god of Jin City, in a flash marriage.After marriage, she thought that just by quietly giving birth to an heir to the wealthy family, all would be well.Little did she know that serving the great demon king would be so frustrating.Quit smoking, quit drinking, quit gaming!Ye Shu silently grits her teeth and endures, and on the day the baby is born, she brings the divorce agreement, “Mr. Shen, the task of bearing a child is completed, please sign the divorce.”Shen Shaochen: “Mrs. Shen, the agreement didn't say that only one child would be enough...”Ye Shu begs for mercy, “Husband, I was wrong! I won't divorce anymore.”(1V1, both male and female leads are clean and committed.)

She is the wife completely ignored by him, yet also the woman he most cherishes. Ultimately, she forces her husband to divorce her by taking on the identity of a lover!She steals vital information and, carrying this man's premium seed, successfully makes her getaway!Six years later, father and son have their first online confrontation. The little bean successfully infiltrates the man's system and sighs at her, “Mom, this person is so dumb. Is he really my dad?”Mu Yiliang pats her son's head and says reassuringly, “He was so terribly fooled by me back then, which shows his IQ is very low. Luckily, you inherited mine!”Unbeknownst to them, the man on the other end of the computer has already listened to the conversation between mother and son. He sneers coldly, “Very low IQ? Mu Yiliang, let's see where you're going to run this time!”

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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